by Tessa Teevan
“Oh my God,” she whispers, taking me from my quest.
When I look up, she’s sitting back on her heels, her eyes are lit up, just as if a light bulb’s turned on in her head. They rise to meet mine.
“I know where it is.”
My heart starts racing at her words. This is it. This is exactly what we’re looking for.
I scramble across the concrete and take her hand. “Where, Brie? Where’s the painting?”
She points behind me. “Right behind that dresser.”
When it was apparent that someone else had searched the storage unit, I knew that Rafe and I were on the right track. I just prayed that we weren’t too late.
Nothing turned up. Being amongst all of these things, sorting through photos that brought back so many memories, caused the emotional turmoil to swirl inside me. The air in the unit thickened, and I sat back, bracing my palms on my thighs.
And when I opened my eyes, they locked on to it, and I immediately knew.
The dresser.
With sudden clarity, I recalled exactly what I’d done that day, though I don’t know why.
Rafe’s confused eyes fill my vision, and I blink twice so I can focus on him.
“What do you mean? Behind the dresser? That one right there?” he asks, pointing to where I just pointed.
Nodding, I swallow. “I remember, Rafe. I remember everything.”
Though I want to rush across the room and take the back of my dresser out, I try to explain it to him.
“My dad was a bit of a conspiracy theorist. It was all in good fun, and Mom loved teasing him about it. I did, too, but I was also fascinated with his theories. All I remember is that, when I looked around that house, this painting is what meant the most to me. It’s just a reproduction, but to me, it’s more valuable than even the original. Hell, if you put them both in front of me, I’d choose that one every single time.”
“Why?” he asks.
“I look at that painting and feel close to them. It sounds silly, but I think that’s why I didn’t take it at the time. It was just a painful reminder that they were no longer here. That I was all alone. But knowing that, one day, when I was ready, I’d be back for it. I guess that day is today.”
“Why hide it though? That’s what I don’t understand. I mean, it’s amazing you had the wherewithal to do so, but why?”
I shrug, struggling to understand it myself. “The house had just been ransacked, Rafe. Who knew what they were looking for? I think, deep down, part of me knew it wasn’t just a random act of violence like the police said. I didn’t need much, and I didn’t care about material possessions. They could steal my jewelry, my clothes, my electronics. But the one thing I couldn’t bear to lose, even if I couldn’t bear to look at it, was that painting.”
“Well,” he says, standing and reaching a hand out. “I’d say it’s time to see if it’s still there.”
I take his hand and allow him to pull me up. My fingers find his, tightly wrapping around them. We walk across the unit, and I hold my breath at Rafe drops my hand and places both of his on the edge of the dresser. The solid-oak piece of furniture barely budges, and my hope that the weight of it kept the thieves from looking behind it rises.
Finally, Rafe gets traction and moves it away from the concrete wall. I can’t see behind him, but I do see the disappointment on his face. He looks up at me, sympathetic pain etched on his features.
“There’s nothing there, Brie,” he informs me, sounding despondent.
“Push it out from the wall just a little farther,” I request, and he complies.
He steps aside as I squat down, knocking on the back of the dresser until I find what I’m looking for. I smile up at him.
“A false back,” I tell him. “It was a perfect fit.”
My hands tremble as I remove the panel on the back of the dresser.
I expel my breath as relief floods my system. Just where I put it so many years ago is The Railway Bridge at Argenteuil. Chipped corner and all.
As I smile in triumph, Rafe moves across the storage unit, flicking off the light and descending us into darkness. Shivers run down my spine as I blink to get my eyes to adjust, but they don’t.
“Rafe,” I call out, scooting back and sitting on the concrete.
The flashlight from his phone breaks through the darkness as he finds his way back to me. “I thought I heard a car pull up. I’m not trying to be paranoid, but if this is what they’ve been looking for, the last thing we need to do is advertise that you have it.” He curses. “They could be monitoring the house. And this unit. We need to get out of here as soon as we can, but for now, we’ll wait out whoever it is.”
“Good thinking,” I tell him, his close proximity putting me at ease.
He sits beside me, and we prop the painting up on our legs, studying it.
“See?” I ask, pointing to the damaged corner. “This is the right one.”
The light shines over every surface of the painting as he examines it. I wait with bated breath, anxious to uncover whatever secrets are hidden.
Then he flips it over. Again, there’s nothing there. At least, that’s what I think. Rafe’s fingers trace every surface before stopping when he gets to the bottom corner. He turns it so it’s directly in front of his face.
“This is why it chipped. It wasn’t an ordinary frame. Another false back, Brie,” he says, tilting it towards me so I can see it. “Your dad knew what he was doing.”
My breath catches as he gingerly removes it. Then he holds the phone up to it. Inside is a packing slip with a small piece of paper.
“I’ve never noticed this before,” I whisper.
“There’s no reason you would have. I just wonder how long it’s been here.”
As his hand reaches into the packing slip, I bite my lower lip and attempt to remain calm.
Oh my God. Could this be it? The secret to unlocking this mystery. Are we about to uncover the clue that will lead to my parents’ true murderer? Are we really only seconds away from this whole thing being blown out of the water? And will I be able to handle whatever’s written on that sheet of paper, or will it send my whole world even further into a tailspin?
So many questions are running through my mind, but I’m more glad now than ever that I survived that car crash so I can finally get some much-needed answers. And, hopefully, justice.
Rafe hands me the phone, and I hold it over him as he unfolds the sheet of steno notebook paper. My heart races as my eyes fall on my father’s handwriting, and I scoot closer until our thighs are touching.
This is it. Our suspicion about the importance of the painting is confirmed, and though we had no idea what we were looking for, it appears as if we’ve found it. The painting led to, or hopefully
A sudden banging in the storage unit next to us causes me to jump. Rafe grabs the phone, clicks the flashlight off, and takes my hand. We sit in silence and complete darkness, waiting, listening. There are no more sounds, just our panting and the beating of our pounding hearts. Still, it’s enough to chill me to my bones.
“I think this is what we were looking for,” he whispers low and in my ear. “As soon as it’s clear, we need to get out of here.”
I nod even though he can’t see me. He gives my hand a reassuring squeeze then leans over. The warmth of his breath on my skin combats the chill, yet it still manages to send shivers down my spine.
“You good?” he whispers.
I squeeze back. “I think so. But getting out of here sounds like a good idea.”
We wait a few more minutes, cautiously listening for any signs of another’s presence, but nothing comes.
“I’d say the coast is clear,” he says, turning the flashlight on. He pushes off the concrete and pulls me up with him. After he hands me the note, I slide it into my back pocket. Then he swings his hand and the light shines over the painting. “Do you want to take that now?”
I mull it over for a moment before thinking better of it. Bend
ing down, I place it back inside the dresser and cover it up. “I don’t think so. I’d rather keep it here for now. At least until all of this is over.”
He nods then takes my hand, which shakes the closer we get to the front of the storage unit. When we get to the door, he stops and holds me close to his chest.
“I’m just being cautious, but when we go out there, you can’t give anything away. Not that we found it. Not that you’re freaked out.”
I swallow down my worry and nod, clutching his shirt as I inhale then exhale slowly. “I can do that. Do you really think we’re being watched?”
“I have no idea. Probably not, but I’d rather be safe than sorry.”
I gulp. “Sorry?”
“Just an expression, baby. You’ve got nothing to worry about. I promise.”
“Okay. Let’s get this over with,” I tell him.
Sunshine fills the unit when he raises the door and we step outside. I muster up an indifferent expression. I have the urge to dart my eyes around, looking or anything or anyone out of place, but I don’t give in to it. My eyes are planted on the rental car, and as Rafe closes the unit and locks it, I go straight to the car and get inside, letting out a deep breath. He jogs across the lot and gets in beside me, leaning over and giving me a kiss. A smile crosses my lips.
“So, what’s next?” he asks, peering at me.
“What do you say we go back to the hotel? Between the house and this, I’m mentally exhausted. Drained. Not to mention I wouldn’t even know where to go next.”
“Back to the city it is,” he says and pulls out of the lot.
The farther we get away, the more the nerves fade away. My gaze settles out the window, the sounds of the radio filling the silence in the car.
He glances over at me. “You going to open it?” he asks.
The paper is practically burning a hole in my pocket.
“As soon as we get back to the hotel,” I tell him.
He nods and turns the music up. We’re both lost in our thoughts as we drive back to the city.
I can’t help but wonder…
Just what in the hell has my father gotten me involved in?
By the time we’re back in the hotel room, my curiosity has grown exponentially. I don’t know why I want to be in the privacy of our room when I open the paper. Perhaps it’s because I’m unsure of what it’ll say or how I’ll react, and even though it burned a hole in the back of my pocket, I was way too anxious to read it in public.
It’s currently sitting in the middle of the bed, folded in half from when I put it in my pocket. The paper looks worn and faded, and I wonder how long it was behind the painting.
“Look, Brie, you don’t have to do this now. Why don’t we go out, get something to eat? Breathe some fresh air and forget about all of this for a little while. When we get back, maybe then you can open it,” he says from across the room.
I shake my head and, with trembling fingers, gingerly pick up the piece of paper. “No, it’s okay. I can do this.”
My heart sinks when my eyes fall on the first three words.
My sweet Brie.
My hand covers my mouth as a small gasp escapes me. Rafe’s on the bed in a flash, sitting behind me and pulling me against his chest. He takes my hand from my mouth and wraps it around his, his strong fingers entwining with mine.
“I’m right here, baby. It’s okay.”
I nod. Then, with a shaky voice, I start reading out loud.
My sweet Brie,
As I write this, I can close my eyes and picture you rolling your own at me. That day you came home from school and informed us that you’d no longer respond to Brie, everything started to change. You weren’t Daddy’s little girl anymore, and I hated it. I was torn. You were blossoming, growing into your beauty, just like your mother. I wanted to watch you grow, to watch you thrive. I wanted to lock you in your room and reverse time. So grown up, but no matter how old you get, you’ll always be my little girl. My soft and sweet. My Brie.
If you’re reading this, I’m gone.
And I’m sorry.
You’ve apparently already figured out the first piece of the puzzle without even getting a clue, just like I knew you would. Not that it makes this easier for any of us.
Be careful, Brie. Trust no one, except for him. You’ll know who I mean. I hesitate to write his name for fear this will fall into the wrong hands and he’ll be targeted. Just know he’s only doing his job. He’ll protect you at all costs. It was the one promise, the one assurance, I needed before I ventured down this potentially dangerous path.
I love you, Brie. You have always been the light in my life and my greatest accomplishment.
It’s my sincere hope this letter never sees the light of day. I pray I’ll watch you graduate college, walk across that stage, and accept your diploma before you take the art history world by storm. I want to watch you fall in love and subsequently have a hard time letting you go when I walk you down the aisle and give you away to a man worthy of your heart. Of your love. I pray I’ll be present the day my first grandchild is born, that I’ll cry tears of joy when I hold him (or her) in my arms. It will be one of the happiest days of my life, and I pray to God I’ll be here to experience all of this with you.
But if I’m not… If I’m no longer present, know that I am always with you.
To steal your mom’s words—just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it isn’t there. I will always be there. I will always with be with you. And I will always, always love you.
Love,
Dad
P.S. The painting over the dining table? It’ll guide you to the next location, which will give you what he’s looking for. Find it, Brie. Finish what I couldn’t.
My eyes sting as hot tears spill onto my cheeks. My chest tightens, a painful constriction, as I hold my breath and reread his words.
He knew.
He hoped things would turn out differently, but deep down, he knew how this was going to end for him.
Was he aware that it would be so soon? That, if we’d gotten on that plane to Paris, we’d be so far away that no one could reach him?
Or would that have delayed the inevitable?
“Brie?” Rafe’s voice tears me from my thoughts.
I place the paper on the bed and rest my head against his chest while he runs his fingers up and down my arm, trying to ward off the chill as I let it all sink in. I have so many more questions, and I know exactly where I have to start.
“You knew him?” I ask, sniffing. Was he the man my dad was talking about? “You knew my dad?”
His fingers still, and he exhales slowly. “I did. I…I was the one who got him to work for the agency.”
My heart stops. I lift up and shift until I’m looking at him. He watches me, his jaw tightening and his fists balling at his sides as if he’s bracing himself for my wrath. A wrath that won’t come—at least, not yet.
“He liked you?” I say, but it comes out as a question instead of a statement. I can read between the lines of my dad’s letter, and it’s apparent he trusted Rafe.
“We had a good rapport.”
“So that day at Adrian’s. You knew who I was?”
He runs his fingers through his hair. “You already know I did.”
I nod. “My dad. Did he ever talk about me?”
This time, a wistful smile crosses his lips. “Only every time I saw him. Which, to be honest, wasn’t very often. It wouldn’t have been good for us to be seen together. But it’s true what he said. I promised to watch out for you. When you left Chicago, I got lazy. And I failed him. Imagine my fucking surprise when I was assigned to Adrian and found out you weren’t only dating him, but you were living with him. I took the first plane out to Philadelphia and had half a mind to tell you everything. But when I got there, you seemed…happy. Content. And, from what I could tell, he was treating you well. It wasn’t until that day, standing outside, that I realized you weren’t. And that he wasn’t.”
“So, is that why you came on so strong? To right the wrong you did? To keep your promise to my dad?” My voice trembles, and the accusation hangs in the air between us.
“Maybe at first. I don’t know. Fuck, Brie. I meant it that day when I said I was drawn to you from the beginning. It had nothing to do with my promise to your dad. And now? Now, I’m in love with you. An untraditional love story, Brie, and I wouldn’t change it for the world. I’ve apologized for my deception, but it was my job. I won’t apologize for wanting to protect you. I won’t apologize for loving you. All I can do is promise that I’ll never stop.”
I crawl across the bed and wrap my arms around his neck, kissing the skin just below his ear. “Thank you,” I whisper.
He pulls back and takes hold of my wrists. Confusion swirls in his eyes. “You’re thanking me?”
“All this time, Rafe… I’m finally happy. Truly happy. And I’ve hated not being able to share that happiness with my parents. To tell them about you. I hate that I’m starting a family with you and the people I love the most in the world will never have a chance to meet. And now, I know you have. I don’t know. It just makes me happy knowing that my dad knew you. That he trusted you. That he liked you.”
“Still, I should’ve told you the other day.”
“Trust me, I want to know more. I need to know more. The hows and the whys and what you knew about my dad. But as for you not telling me that day, it’s okay. Honestly,” I insist when it looks like he doesn’t believe me. “I was already on information overload. Any more and my brain may have exploded. Kind of how I feel right now.”
“Speaking of, what do you think this means? The post script?” he asks, picking up the piece of paper. There’s a bunch of numbers there, seemingly in no particular order. “Do these numbers mean anything to you?”
“Nothing. I don’t know what they could be.”
His brow furrows as he studies the sheet. “If I had to guess, I’d say it’s probably connected to a post office box. A security deposit box, maybe?”
“But what bank? Or post office? I don’t understand. How am I supposed to figure this out?”